


The Rules Don't Apply

by slightlytookish



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Living Together, M/M, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: The idea of him and Nick living together seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. But the funny thing was, living with Nick turned out to be… easy.Wayne wasn't used to anything being easy.





	1. Wayne

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aiming for eight parts in all, and each part will alternate the POV between Wayne and Nick. I was going to wait until it was all finished to post but I really wanted to post at least the first few parts before the show closes next week :(
> 
> The tags will be updated as needed, and the title is from "You Deserve It."

Wayne _hated_ staying at the hotel. Thinking about all of the other people that had slept in the same bed before him was enough to tie his stomach in knots, and on the day he checked in he spent half the night cleaning the bathroom because it simply wasn't up to his standards. By _far_.

But the worst of it was the noise. The voices in the hall, the relentless clanging of the old pipes, the doors slamming in the middle of the night that startled him awake every single time and left him sweating and short of breath and lying awake for hours afterward, until he finally managed to convince himself that all he'd heard was a door, and not a gunshot.

Still, Wayne was surprised at how little he objected when Nick said, "Get your things and come to my place." 

Not even Nick's quip that Wayne would be his new live-in maid was enough to put him off; he might not be living with them anymore but he still had his kids to think about, and of course there was New York, and the train tickets, and the fact that he'd have to sleep in a hotel there too (he was already dreading it) so he needed to pinch his pennies now wherever he could. They all had to.

He was starting to think like Donny talked – everything was _New York, New York, New York_ , all the time. If they could just raise the money, if they could just get to New York, if they could just win the contest. If all of the hundred things that needed to happen to get them from Cleveland to New York actually did, then maybe – well. It still wouldn't get him back his family, his wife had been clear enough on that when she showed him the door. But maybe winning the contest would convince him that it was worth losing everything else.


	2. Nick

Nick knew he shouldn't be surprised, considering that he'd invited him, but he still didn't really expect Wayne to turn up at his apartment precisely one hour later, suitcase in one hand and trombone case in the other. 

"Huh. I didn't think you'd actually come," he said, because Nick had never been able to keep his mouth shut. It had always gotten him into trouble, and right now Wayne looked – confused, and a little annoyed. And exhausted. The dark shadows under his eyes that Nick had first noticed back at the club looked worse in the dim light of the hallway. When was the last time that Wayne had actually slept? And with all the time they'd been spending together rehearsing and performing lately, how hadn't Nick or any of the guys noticed before?

"I thought you said-"

"Just give me your bag," Nick said, and after a moment's hesitation Wayne handed it over before following him inside. 

He didn't even pretend not to look around; Nick could see Wayne eyeballing the papers he'd left strewn across the kitchen table, the lopsided stack of books by the door, the way Nick's coat and hat had been tossed carelessly over a chair the minute he got home. Under the scrutiny Nick unconsciously found himself standing straighter until he remembered that no, this wasn't a barracks inspection, this was his apartment, and he could throw his clothes and papers around anywhere he liked. He'd earned that, at least.

Wayne's eyes came to rest on the couch, which Nick had fixed up with sheets and a blanket and a pillow from his own bed during the hour it took Wayne to check out of his hotel. And maybe Wayne really was past the point of exhausted, because the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Thought you didn't think I'd actually come?"

Nick rolled his eyes and put the suitcase down by the couch. When he looked up again Wayne's smile had grown, just a bit. 

For some reason the sight of it made Nick's stomach clench.

"The door on the left is the bathroom, the one on the right is my bedroom. I left the spare key on the hook by the front door for you. Are you hungry? No? Well, there's stuff in the fridge to make a sandwich if you want something later. Help yourself to anything you want."

"Okay," Wayne said, but he didn't move from the door. He didn't even move to take off his coat. He was still holding on to his trombone case for dear life, looking like any minute he was going to turn around and run back to the hotel.

Part of Nick wanted to stay up, wanted to sit down with Wayne and a couple of beers and find out just what the hell had happened, because he wasn't entirely sure that Wayne would still be there in the morning. All the time he'd known him, it had always seemed like Wayne had the perfect life: the wife, the kids, the house, the three standing gigs that let him make a living off playing the trombone. Not like Nick, who'd had to take up teaching and still struggled to pay the bills every month, and who came home to his shitty little apartment every night, alone.

But tomorrow he had to wake up early for work, and then he had a couple of private lessons after school, and then rehearsal with the guys, and another gig at the VA hall in the evening. He couldn't stand guard over Wayne all night. "Well, I'm off to bed."

He got as far as his bedroom door before he heard a quiet, "Hey, Nick."

When he turned around again Wayne was still standing by the door, but he'd finally taken off his hat and put down the trombone. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." It came out sounding gruffer than Nick intended. "Night, Lieutenant."

"Goodnight." And there was that tiny smile again, and Nick's stomach gave another clench as he closed the door.


	3. Wayne

If Wayne had really stopped to think about it – if he hadn't been so desperate to leave that hotel, if he hadn't been so exhausted and so unused to living alone and so sick of staying up all night, startling at shadows – he never would have moved in with Nick. 

When he finally did stop and think about it, the following morning when he woke up late to an empty apartment and the smell of coffee in his nose, Wayne was certain that he'd made a terrible mistake. He'd gone against his nature and made an impulsive decision and now – now there was a rolled up piece of paper tucked under the handle of his trombone case and of course he had to go over and investigate it, wincing only a little at the stiffness in his back when he got up from the couch. 

It was a note scrawled in Nick's terrible handwriting, all sharp points and unevenly crossed Ts that made Wayne frown – _Left you breakfast in the oven so eat something, for God's sake_ – and whatever Wayne had expected living with Nick to be like, it wasn't a plate of fried eggs and toast waiting for him in the morning. 

He knew that the guys were waiting for it all to blow up, for them to argue and for Nick to kick him out just like Wayne's wife had. Only Julia seemed optimistic. 

"Everything happens for a reason," she said before their next rehearsal, when Wayne told her and Donny where they could reach him if they ever needed to. "It has to be better than staying at a hotel with a bunch of strangers, right? Besides, I have a feeling this will be good for both of you." 

She gave him an encouraging smile, but Donny looked doubtful and was probably worrying that any trouble between Nick and Wayne would hurt the band, and after rehearsal Johnny told Wayne he could always come and sleep on his couch if he ever wanted to.

And Wayne got it, he really did. The idea of him and Nick living together seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, even to him. He'd be the first to admit that he and Nick weren't the easiest people to get along with and during his first few days at the apartment Wayne walked on eggshells, expecting arguments, shouting matches, tension. But the first week slipped into the second, and then into the third, and the funny thing was, living with Nick turned out to be… easy.

Wayne wasn't used to anything being easy.

And yet it was easy to fall into step with Nick after rehearsals and walk back to the apartment together, talking about an upcoming gig or Donny's latest charts or how much more money they needed to earn for New York. It was easy to stay up late most nights practicing together, and even easy to navigate the small confines of Nick's apartment without getting in each other's way, and without getting on each other's nerves. 

At least, he didn't think he was getting on Nick's nerves. He hadn't said anything when Wayne moved all of his papers from the kitchen table to one neat stack on the counter, or when he rearranged the bathroom cupboard to look less cluttered, or even when he started going into Nick's bedroom while he was at work and putting away all the clothes that Nick never bothered to put away himself. And Nick usually complained about _everything_.

So Wayne kept on doing it. It was easy enough.

"He's been ironing my clothes," he overheard Nick tell Davy one night after rehearsal. Wayne had his back to them and he froze in the middle of putting away his trombone, straining to hear them over the competing sounds of Jimmy and Johnny's and Donny and Julia's conversations. Nick didn't sound annoyed, or irritated, he sounded almost – well, if he were anyone else Wayne would have said that Nick sounded fond, but he dismissed that right away. He'd never heard Nick sound fond of anything.

Davy, on the other hand, sounded delighted, if his laughter was anything to go by. "No wonder you've been looking so sharp lately. I thought maybe you'd been getting yourself a new wardrobe for New York."

"Who could afford that?" Nick grumbled, sounding more like himself. Then he added, more quietly, "He even irons my undershirts." 

And there was that odd note in his voice again that Wayne couldn't place. Fondness, maybe, though Wayne still didn't believe it.

"You'd better watch out, Nick," Davy said. "You keep saying things like this and maybe I'll ask Wayne to come and live with me. I have some ironing he could do, too."

"Hell, no. Find your own roommate, Zlatic. I'm happy with mine." 

Davy laughed again, and Wayne found himself smiling as he went back to packing up. He and Nick had always played well together. It was one of the reasons why he'd taken Donny up on his offer and joined the band in the first place; he hadn't needed another gig, but he knew Nick, and he knew they'd work well together again. Maybe he shouldn't find it so surprising that they could live together, too.


	4. Nick

"Are you gonna tell me what's got you so worked up this morning?" Nick asked when Wayne started scrubbing the same plate for the third time. "Or are you just gonna keep washing that dish?"

For a long moment, he really thought that Wayne was going to keep on washing it, that maybe by some miracle they'd actually raise enough money to go to New York and Wayne would stay behind, in this kitchen, still washing that plate. But at last Wayne sighed and rinsed it off, stacking it with the others in the dish drainer.

 _Finally_ , Nick barely resisted saying. "I thought you'd be happy today. You're seeing your kids this afternoon, aren't you?"

He wasn't even sure if Wayne heard him. He still hadn't turned away from the sink, and Nick could only see his face in profile but Wayne was fidgeting with his wedding ring, spinning it around and around his finger like he always did when something was bothering him. 

Nick couldn't figure out why Wayne was still wearing the thing. From the little that Wayne had told him – haltingly, over the course of several weeks – the marriage was very much over, and the divorce proceedings were moving along. If it were Nick he would've thrown the ring into the river and hoped it went on fire again, but that wasn't Wayne's style. He always did his best to hide his problems behind a carefully crafted exterior of perfectly parted hair and shirts buttoned all the way to the top – even his pajamas, just like they were now, which was just _infuriating_. 

No one would have even known that he and his wife had called it quits if Nick hadn't noticed the change in Wayne's schedule and asked him about it. Well, he was asking about something else now, and he'd wait as long as he needed to for an answer. Nick would never call himself a patient man but for Wayne, somehow, he never minded waiting.

"They remember what it was like, before," Wayne said eventually. "What _I_ was like. It would have been easier if they were babies when I left. Then I wouldn't have seemed like a stranger to them when I came home."

He was holding himself so stiffly and Nick wished he could rest a hand on one of Wayne's tense-looking shoulders and offer him some kind of comfort, like he might have done with any of the other guys. But he knew that Wayne would hate it, that he'd probably flinch and twist away from him, so Nick settled on leaning against the counter beside him instead. Close enough that he hoped Wayne would see it for the support that it was, but not close enough to spook him. "We've all changed."

"But kids don't understand that, do they? I don't even recognize myself sometimes. How can I expect them to?"

Wayne's voice didn't quite crack but it was a near thing, and in the frayed edges of his words Nick could hear the same strain that he saw in Wayne's profile, in the hunch of his shoulders and in the way that he kept twisting his ring around and around. It was frustrating, but not in the way that Nick was so often frustrated; he didn't feel that flush of anger, that need to make some blistering comment. In fact, Nick had nothing to say, and he _always_ had something to say, even when it would be better if he just kept his mouth shut.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, because it was true, and because Wayne was being honest with him and deserved the same honesty in return. 

Wayne sighed again, a quick gust of air that might have been a suppressed laugh or a sob cut short. Maybe it was both. "That's the problem, I don't know what to say either. To them."

Nick tapped his thumb against the chipped edge of the counter and wondered why he cared so much. Then he wondered why he wondered, when he already knew the answer. "You want me to come with you today?"

At last, Wayne turned to him. "What? Why?"

He was looking at Nick as if he'd suddenly announced that he was giving up the trumpet and taking up ballet instead. Nick just shrugged.

"Well, another person would help keep the conversation going, wouldn't it? Although, knowing you," he said, giving Wayne a shrewd look, "you'll probably take them to the movies so you won't have to worry about talking to them for a few hours."

Wayne tugged at his collar. The tips of his ears were turning red. "The thought did cross my mind."

"Lucky for you I like movies, so you can take me, too."

Wayne was shaking his head, but he looked just like he had when Nick invited him to stay at his apartment – uncertain and confused and yet desperate enough to actually consider it. "You don't have to come with me. You don't even like kids."

"I like kids just fine, thank you very much. I don't like _teaching_ ; there's a difference. Besides, I'd like to meet your kids. Are they neat freaks like you? Two little Wayne clones?"

That got a smile out of Wayne, which was exactly what Nick had hoped for. His whole face softened when he talked about his kids; it was as if the years fell away, and the war did too, and he was just a dad working three jobs to support his family. "Not at all. They're even messier than you, most of the time."

Nick never smiled much before the Donny Nova Band came into his life – for a long time he thought he wouldn't, ever again, because you didn't need to smile to survive – but now he grinned. "See? I like them already. We're gonna be best friends, just you watch."

"I'm already regretting this," Wayne said, but he was still smiling as he reached past Nick for a towel and started drying the dishes. "I'm picking them up at one o'clock. Don't make me late or I'm leaving without you."

"All right, all right, I'm getting dressed now," Nick said, pushing off from the counter. If there was an extra spring in his step as he headed towards his bedroom, well, that was nobody's business but his own.


	5. Wayne

When they got home from rehearsal (where a haunted-looking Donny arrived twenty minutes late, and Julia didn't show up at all), Nick unearthed a bottle of whiskey from somewhere and had a couple of glasses lined up on the kitchen counter before Wayne even managed to take off his coat. "Want a drink?"

They'd already played one gig that week without Julia and it looked like they might be playing another one the following evening, they'd raised less than half of the money they needed to go to New York the way Donny wanted to, and Donny still wouldn't even consider taking a bus or booking a cheap motel. But maybe they wouldn't even need to worry about paying for New York anymore, because there was no way they'd be going without Julia.

Yeah, Wayne figured he could use a drink.

He didn't have to walk far (there were just five steps between the front door and the kitchen; Wayne had counted them his first night there) but by the time he got there Nick was leaning against the counter, his tie loosened and his first glass already almost finished. He poured one for Wayne, then topped up his own and drank it almost as quickly. 

"What are you looking at?" he said when he caught Wayne watching him. He sounded irritable, but that wasn't anything new. Nick sounded irritable most of the time. 

Still, Wayne looked away, down into the safety of his own glass. "Nothing. It's just, you don't usually drink like this." 

And Nick didn't; Wayne could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd seen Nick drink anything other than beer or maybe wine, and never so quickly. Nick was an expert at nursing a single drink for a couple of hours, and more than once Wayne had wondered how much of it had to do with his time as a POW, if that was why Nick knew how to make something last. As drinking habits went, he wasn't like Davy.

But maybe he was tonight. Nick made a dismissive sound, and when Wayne glanced over he saw Nick pouring himself another glass. 

Wayne forced himself to look away again. Nick was a grown man, in his own home, and if he wanted to drink himself into a stupor then it wasn't any of Wayne's business. Even though it felt like it was, for some unsettling reason, and Wayne decided to focus on his own drink to distract himself from that line of thought.

Of course, that was when Nick chose to speak. "The first thing I did when I got out of that camp was drink until I couldn't even stand."

And even though Wayne was just thinking about it, it was still a shock to hear Nick mention it. They never talked about Nick being a prisoner of war, just like they never talked about Jimmy's ship exploding or Davy liberating Dachau. They'd all heard a little about what each of the other guys had gone through – but that was just it, _a little_ , nothing more than a few comments here and there about jeeps flipping over and best friends not making it back. It was an unspoken rule that they never discussed any of it, and Wayne felt out of his depth. He swallowed uncomfortably, the whiskey burning his throat, and set his glass down on the counter. Then he picked it up again, because if he'd thought he needed that drink before, well, he really needed it now.

"Is that what you're trying to do now?" he asked carefully.

"Nah," Nick said, even as he finished off the last of his glass. He didn't refill it, though, just put it down on the counter and stared at it, as if he were waiting for it to tell him something. "I guess I was hoping that if I drank enough I'd be able to sleep tonight."

Wayne heard Nick sometimes, pacing around his bedroom in the middle of the night. The floorboards creaked all over the apartment, and he wondered how often he'd wakened Nick with his own midnight pacing. Or rather, midnight cleaning, because Wayne would always prefer rearranging random cabinets or drawers to walking around aimlessly. Neither one of them ever mentioned hearing the other. There was so much that they didn't talk about.

That didn't mean that Wayne didn't want to know more. The thing was, he didn't know how to ask. Or if Nick even wanted him to.

His glass was empty, but Wayne didn't remember finishing it. How long had he been standing there, overthinking as usual? Beside him Nick was still staring down at his own empty glass and Wayne was suddenly struck by how unhappy he looked, from the dejected hunch of his shoulders to the oddly vulnerable curve of his neck. It made something ache in Wayne's chest, and he wished he could be like the other guys, easily doling out a clasp of the shoulder or a pat on the back like Jimmy and Davy did. Like they all did, all the time, except for Wayne. 

And yet Wayne's fingers twitched forward, reaching towards Nick of their own accord. He didn't know what he was reaching for – Nick's shoulder, or maybe his arm – but at the last moment he grabbed the bottle instead and refilled their glasses. His hand shook a little but he didn't spill a drop (he was good at that) and he didn't reach for Nick again, either (he was good at that, too), but the ache in his chest still grew.

At least it didn't seem like Nick had noticed Wayne's moment of indecision. Tonight he only had eyes for the whiskey, and he reached for the glass eagerly and knocked half of it back in a rush, as if he wanted to brace himself for something. Wayne couldn't think why, until Nick said, "Did Donny ever tell you I almost left to play with Dwight Anson?"

Wayne remembered that evening when the band played together for the first time, before any of them had even met Julia, and Nick and Donny had their first of many tense exchanges after the gig. Donny and Wayne had a bit of a tense exchange too, come to think of it, but Nick was the one who'd said he could always go and play with Dwight Anson. Only, Wayne never thought he'd actually meant it, and now he felt a bit like the ground was shifting beneath his feet and it had nothing to do with the whiskey. "What? No. Why – why would you –?"

"Because I wanted to win," Nick said. He seemed determined not to look at Wayne. "I wanted to play with you guys, but I thought I wanted to win more. I thought I _needed_ to win. But then I realized, what I really need is the band. Our band, not anyone else's. I don't even care about the contest anymore, or going to New York. I wouldn't mind it if we stayed here and kept playing the Blue Wisp and the Pavilion every other night. I just don't want this thing, _this band_ , to die, you know?"

There wasn't enough left in the bottle to imagine the alternative. "Yeah," Wayne said quietly. "I know." 

"What if Julia doesn't come back?"

Wayne swallowed down some whiskey, and his doubts. "She will."

"But what if she doesn't?" 

"Jimmy said she just has some kind of bug. She'll be back when she's feeling better."

"What the hell does Jimmy know anyway?" Nick said, and he didn't even sound exasperated like he normally would have sounded, saying something like that. He just sounded worried, more than anything else. "Only Donny knows what's really going on, and he's not talking."

That was true enough, but Wayne still had hope. He had to.

"Just… trust in the band," he said. "You know how you said that the band was what you really needed? Well, I think that's true for all of us – including Julia. And we just have to trust that she'll realize it and come back, and that she and Donny will patch things up between them, and that we'll find some way to get to New York in time for the contest. That's all we can do. Just trust each other."

Nick was quiet for some time as he finished his drink. "It's not that easy for me," he said eventually, still not looking up. "Trusting people."

Wayne had always known that in the back of his mind, from observing Nick, from living with him. The wariness that had a tendency to creep into Nick's voice, the doubt that seemed to permanently linger in his eyes. The way he went through life as if he were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to disappoint him, or betray him. 

And the thing was, Nick was probably right about whatever was happening with Julia and Donny. He was often the first to notice things, and always the first to say the things that everyone else was thinking but didn't dare to say. They were all keeping track of the amount of money they'd raised, but only Nick pointed out that they were nowhere near their goal. Everyone was concerned that whatever was going on between Donny and Julia would end up hurting the band, but Nick was the only one to bring it up. 

Wayne had snapped at him for that earlier, before rehearsal when they were still waiting for Donny to show up. He'd called Nick a selfish bastard because he thought that Nick was just complaining as usual, that he didn't care about anyone but himself. But after seeing and listening to him tonight, Wayne felt like the biggest asshole in the world for ever believing that Nick didn't care about the band as much as they all did.

Maybe it was that thought that made Wayne finally give into the ache he still felt in his chest and reach for Nick, pulling him into a hug.

"What the hell?" Nick demanded, his voice close to Wayne's ear.

Wayne felt like an idiot, but he held on. It was – strange, but nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged anyone outside of his family. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged his family either, for that matter. He'd never done it as much as he should have, or even as much as he'd wanted to. For all that he always tried to be perfect, Wayne managed to fail on so many levels.

"I don't think I'm better than you," he blurted. "I know I'm not."

He waited for Nick to push him away, or to make some kind of cutting remark that Wayne knew he deserved. In fact, he was surprised that Nick hadn't told him to go to hell hours ago. 

But he only heard the clink of Nick's empty glass being placed on the counter, and then half a second later his arms came up to wrap around Wayne's back. 

"I don't really mind it when you pick up my clothes." 

And that was when Wayne finally let himself relax, and it was what Wayne thought about hours later, when some noise or nightmare he couldn't remember startled him out of his sleep: Nick, holding him close, and the fact that there was someone who understood exactly what he was going through just one room away.

Wayne lifted his head from the couch and listened, but the apartment was quiet, and he didn't hear Nick pacing in the other room.

Maybe Nick was asleep, or maybe he was thinking that there was someone just a room away who understood him, too. Wayne couldn't be sure, but the thought made him smile a little as he drifted back to sleep.


	6. Nick

The New York preliminary was scheduled for Wednesday, and part of Nick had been convinced that they'd be on a train heading back to Cleveland by Thursday morning.

Actually, part of him had never even expected them to get to New York in the first place. The fact that they'd not only made it, but sailed through the preliminary round so quickly and easily that the program's director told them to go out and enjoy the next few days in the city before the final competition, seemed like something out of a dream, and Nick had given up dreaming somewhere between boot camp and being captured in France. 

But even if, a year ago, he'd still been able to hope and plan for a future he was no longer certain he'd actually have, Nick was pretty sure he never would have dreamed that he'd be in a band about to perform in a national radio contest in just a few days.

And that, out of everything, was keeping Nick awake.

Well, that and Wayne in the other bed.

It was ridiculous, and he knew it. They'd been sharing an apartment that wasn't much bigger than this hotel room for months. He should be used to this by now, used to Wayne being the first person he saw every morning and the last person he saw every night. But at home Nick had his own bedroom that he could retreat to when it all became too much, whenever his heart started beating too fast because Wayne had hung up all of Nick's shirts, or cut out some story from the newspaper that he thought Nick would like, or smiled at him across the room. He didn't have to look over at another bed and see Wayne turned towards him, close enough that Nick could lean over and count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

Back home, Nick hadn't given much thought to the possibility of sharing a room with Wayne in New York. He'd assumed that Wayne would be sick of him by then and decide to room with Johnny or one of the others instead. He'd thought – or rather, hoped – that _he_ would be sick of _Wayne_.

Who the hell was he kidding, anyway?

But then they'd arrived in New York and Wayne had gone up to the front desk with Donny to check in while Nick waited with the others by the bar, and when he returned he dropped a key into Nick's hand and said, "Come on, we're on the seventh floor."

And Nick wasn't about to argue with that.

But now it was their second night in New York and he couldn't sleep because he was looking at Wayne and wondering if he'd always slept curled up like that or if it was a consequence of sleeping on Nick's couch for the past couple of months.

He didn't have much time to contemplate it, however, because it was right around then that he realized that Wayne was looking back at him.

 _Shit_. 

Their room overlooked Times Square, and there was enough light coming in through the window that he could see Wayne's mouth quirk into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Can't sleep?"

It took Nick a second to find his voice. "You too?"

Which was obvious enough that he felt foolish for asking, but Wayne just sighed and rubbed his eyes in a way that Nick tried to pretend wasn't endearing at all.

"I don't know," Wayne said. "I guess I'm just feeling restless."

"Yeah," said Nick. "Me too." 

That was one way to explain it, he supposed. It wasn't like he could say, _Actually, Wayne, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you and it's driving me to distraction and I don't know what to do about it_ , after all.

But still, it was close enough.

Wayne sighed again, a frustrated sort of sigh that Nick knew all too well from his own sleepless nights. "Want to go for a walk?" 

"Now?" Nick could hear the disbelief in his own voice but Wayne just sat up and switched on the lamp. 

"It's not that late," he said, squinting down at his watch. "And it's better than just sitting here. What do you say?"

Nick didn't say anything for a minute as he blinked his way through the sudden brightness, taking careful stock of how Wayne's hair gleamed golden in the lamplight in a way that it almost hurt to look at him, though Nick wouldn't – couldn't – tear his eyes away. 

What was it that Wayne said about Donny and Julia having something you don't get over in twenty-four hours? Because Nick had a feeling that he was suffering from the same thing, and he knew he wouldn't get over it in a lifetime.

"Sure, what the hell," he said, throwing off the covers and ignoring the way Wayne's answering smile – a real smile, one that reached his eyes – made something flutter in his chest.

*

"I read in the newspaper this morning," Wayne said, "that there are seven hundred ornaments on that tree."

Times Square had been as bright and almost as crowded as it was during the day, but the glittering marquees and the music spilling out of the nightclubs soon gave way to quieter streets lined with darkened office buildings as they walked on with no destination in mind, until they ended up in front of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.

"Are you sure?" Nick craned his neck to look up and up and up, from the bauble-covered branches to the star gleaming at the very top. "I think I just counted six hundred and ninety-nine."

This time last year he was in a POW camp, hoping that he'd get a Red Cross parcel soon. This year, he was making Wayne laugh in the light of a giant Christmas tree.

Never mind the contest; a year ago Nick wouldn't have managed to dream up this moment, either. 

"It's funny," Wayne said. "I've been thinking that I haven't felt much Christmas spirit this year but now, looking at this tree, I finally do."

"I guess we've all been preoccupied with the contest," Nick said, but the truth was he couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt anything in the way of Christmas spirit. He had no family aside from an aunt and some cousins living in Chicago that he hadn't seen since high school, and he certainly hadn't been feeling very festive during the war. He didn't feel particularly festive this year either, though he had to agree with Wayne: looking at the tree gave him a warm kind of feeling in his chest.

Though, that may have had more to do with the fact that Wayne was standing right beside him. Nick kept sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye, memorizing the hint of a smile on Wayne's face as he looked up at the tree, the way the lights reflected off his hair and made his eyes shine brighter. 

If he were Julia, maybe he'd write a poem about this moment, but Nick was no poet. All he could do was think about what he'd said, back when Donny was putting together the band and still needed a trombone: _if you want perfect, then I know a guy_.

Nick should have realized back then just how far gone he already was.

"When we get home," he said slowly, "we could get a tree. If you want."

He didn't own any lights or ornaments, and he was pretty sure that he hadn't decorated a Christmas tree in his entire adult life, but the smile Wayne gave him made Nick wish he'd suggested it a long time ago. 

"We'll have to get something a little smaller than this one, though," Wayne said, jerking his chin towards the tree.

"You said there are seven hundred ornaments, right?" Nick said. "If we borrowed a few, you think they'd miss them?"

"I don't think Donny would be very happy if we were arrested four days before the contest," Wayne said, but the smile lingered on his face the entire time they stood there, looking at the tree, and there was a lightness in Nick's heart that lingered long after that.


	7. Wayne

They didn't win.

They didn't win, and maybe Julia was right and they would be blacklisted and never play together again, and maybe Wayne wouldn't be able to make a living off playing the trombone anymore and he'd have to take up teaching like Nick and pray that he could still book some gigs on the side every once in a while.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to mind.

He thought about the first night that Julia sang with them, when Donny brought her out of the audience with no warning and changed the set list on the fly. Wayne had felt sick at the time, because it had felt like breaking the rules, and it had felt wrong, even though it had turned out all right in the end. Better than all right, because Julia was the missing piece that brought them all together, that shaped them into the band that really did make it all the way to New York City.

Last night they went out there and broke the rules again, and it had felt right. It still felt right, even though Wayne was packing up to go home.

"Hey Lieutenant, come here."

Wayne glanced between the window, where Nick was waiting for him expectantly, and Nick's bed, which was a mess of shirts and ties and socks seemingly flung every which way except in the direction of his suitcase, which still lay empty. "We're supposed to be packing, we have to check out in a few hours."

Nick sighed. "Come on, Wayne, live a little for once. We have all morning to pack but we won't have this view forever."

That was true enough; their apartment back home was only on the first floor and had an uninspiring view of the solid brick wall of the building next door. Wayne left off folding his shirts - he was nearly finished anyway - and went over to the window, but not without wondering when he'd started thinking of _Nick's_ apartment as _their_ apartment. 

It almost felt like another rule was being broken, but Wayne didn't find himself bothered by this one either. 

From the window Times Square was already crowded with people heading to work, and Wayne watched a few of them crossing the street, wondering how many of those men carrying briefcases and women in smart hats had listened to the contest last night, if any of them had actually been in the audience watching them, before he followed Nick's gaze up Seventh Avenue and looked at the Palace Theatre itself. 

"Hard to believe it's over, isn't it?" Nick said, and it was hard to believe that only twelve hours ago they were getting ready to perform, tuning their instruments, looking everywhere for Jimmy. 

It was hard to believe that not even a full day had passed since they'd huddled together backstage and Wayne said, _"We've already given them everything we've got,"_ before they all went out there and gave them even more, playing faster than they'd ever had as they let the audience - and the entire country - look into their hearts and see _Johnny's pain and Nick's inability to trust and Davy's drinking and Wayne's broken family and Jimmy's hunt for justice and Donny's guilt and Julia's helplessness_.

Wayne wondered if the marquee still read _The American Songbook's Tribute to the Troops_ or if they'd already changed it over to advertise some upcoming performance, and decided that it didn't matter, not when he remembered that moment before the curtain came down when the audience stood up and roared their appreciation.

"I thought losing would hurt more," he said, and maybe it would have, if the cheers and applause hadn't wormed their way into Wayne's ears, and into his heart. 

He glanced over at Nick, and after a moment Nick nodded. "Yeah, me too. Though I gotta say, it would hurt a lot less if Illinois hadn't won. I can't believe that asshole Tom is gonna be in a movie."

"Was that the guy you were talking to before the preliminary?"

"Yup. The one who just _had_ to mention that he was staying at the Plaza. What a prick."

Wayne remembered Nick calling him that the other day too, and also remembered wondering at the time what Tom had done to cause that reaction, and what kind of history the two of them had. "How do you know him anyway?"

"I lived with my aunt in Chicago for a few years after my parents died, and I ended up finishing high school there. Tom and I were in the marching band together. He was stuck up back then, too. Would you believe, he always tried to make me play second? That tone-deaf ass."

Wayne fought back a grin. "Mystery solved. I knew you two had some sort of history," he said, and he couldn't keep the odd rush of relief he felt out of his voice. He just hoped Nick wouldn't notice, and wouldn't figure out what he'd really assumed.

But Nick was always observant and he turned to Wayne now, his expression unreadable. Wayne felt his stomach clench - usually Nick was so expressive, usually Wayne could always tell his moods just by looking at his face, but right now he felt a little lost as Nick took a step closer.

"Tom's not my type," he said, and for one delirious moment, Wayne thought that Nick was going to kiss him. 

For another delirious moment, Wayne realized that he wouldn't mind it if Nick did.

But there was a knock at the door, and then several knocks all at once, persistent and clearly unwilling to go away until someone responded, and Nick turned aside to open the door.

"Don't pack!" Donny said, rushing into the room hand-in-hand with Julia, with Jimmy and Johnny and Davy at their heels. "Put your things back in the drawers, fellas, because the hotel wants us to stay four more days - on their dime - and play every night."

"What?" Wayne was still reeling from whatever had just happened - or almost happened - with Nick and he couldn't wrap his mind around what he was hearing. Breakfast had been a somber affair, and there hadn't been any indication of this when all of them had eaten together just a couple of hours ago. "When did this happen?"

"Just now." Donny's eyes were shining and he rocked back and forth on his feet, like he couldn't stay still even if he tried. "Jimmy and I went to check out and we ended up meeting with the manager, the owner, everyone. Turns out the manager served and the owner lost two sons, and they listened to us last night and, well. It meant a lot to them. They said - they said if it all goes well, they'll ask us back in the spring or summer, and we'll get to play the rooftop garden."

The bandstand in the sky, the one Donny had promised them.

"I'm not agreeing to anything until Jimmy looks at the contract," Nick said, and everyone laughed.

"I've read it three times. Everything's in order," Jimmy promised. 

"What do you say, guys?" Donny said, his face expectant. 

"We'll still be home in time for Christmas," Julia said, turning to Wayne. They were all looking at him, he realized suddenly, because they knew that Wayne always needed to follow a schedule, that Wayne played by the rules, that Wayne didn't like sudden changes.

His eyes found Nick's, and he felt a stab of regret for being interrupted, for a moment that had passed that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get back again. 

"Are you okay with this?" Nick said, and Wayne got the feeling that Nick was asking about more than just staying in New York for a few more days.

 _I think we've all had enough moments pass us by_ , Wayne thought. _And we've all lost enough. I'm not going to lose anything else._

"Let's blow it up," he replied. 

That was what he'd said last night, right before they took the stage. But now there was none of the disappointment and despair on his friends' faces; now there were only smiles, and excitement, and in Nick's eyes, something like a promise.


	8. Nick

Nick didn't need anyone to tell him that the whole world could be turned upside down in an instant; that one minute he could be sitting in a trench somewhere in France and in the next minute he could be hustled off to a prisoner of war camp; or that one moment he could be packing up to go home, so certain that they'd lost in every way possible – the contest, and maybe even the band, if Julia was right about being blacklisted – and in the next moment they could be invited to extend their stay in New York and play the Hotel Astor for the next few nights. 

Or that one moment he could be standing by a window, just talking to the best friend he'd ever had, and in the next moment he could be a breath away from kissing him.

He didn't know what he'd been thinking. Maybe he hadn't been thinking at all. And he sure as hell didn't know what he was supposed to do now. 

Nick was a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward, and yet he knew deep down that he'd never had any intention of letting Wayne know just how big of a torch he was carrying for him. It was one thing to accept that Wayne liked him well enough as a friend – and to be honest, most days Nick still couldn't believe it – and it was quite another thing to hope that Wayne would ever think of him as something else. Something more. 

He was married, for one thing – until he wasn't. Nick wasn't sure when Wayne had stopped wearing his wedding ring, whether he'd taken it off here in New York or back in Cleveland, but it was gone, and he hadn't even realized it until this morning, until just after they were interrupted by the rest of the guys pouring into their room to talk about the gig they'd just been offered. Nick hadn't noticed until they'd all turned to Wayne to see if he'd agree to stay in New York, and Wayne had stood there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, fidgeting with his wedding ring just like he always did – only the ring wasn't there, and Wayne was just tugging on the skin of his finger instead, and Nick couldn't take his eyes off the spot where Wayne's ring should have been.

He hated himself for not knowing the precise moment that Wayne had stopped wearing it. He hated himself even more for wishing that its absence had something to do with him. 

But the ring didn't matter, not really, not when Nick knew that Wayne's marriage was over months ago, not when he was there the day Wayne came home with a bundle of freshly-signed divorce papers in his hand. What mattered was that Wayne was _Wayne_ , and that was enough to make everything else seem impossible, enough that Nick had never dreamed of telling him anything. Nick didn't think Wayne was perfect anymore, not by a long shot – you couldn't live with a man and still think he was perfect – but he also didn't think he'd ever measure up to him.

He had a long time to dwell on that; hours, in fact, with no chance to speak to Wayne alone even if he wanted to (and he wasn't entirely sure that he did). First they had to meet with some people from the hotel to finalize all the arrangements for the gig that evening, then a reporter from one of the New York papers had shown up, wanting to talk to all of them about what had happened during the contest the night before. It made for a nice story, the reporter said, and Nick supposed that it did, even though he found himself barely paying attention as the others rattled on about it. 

Wayne sat right beside him the entire time, equally silent and not looking at him, but more than once during the interview Nick saw him reaching for the ring that was no longer there, and tugging at the skin of his finger instead. It made Nick's stomach twist itself into knots but he still couldn't say a word to Wayne, not with the entire band heading out to the Edison for a late lunch and then coming straight back to the Astor for a rehearsal that Donny threw together in an empty ballroom up on the tenth floor. 

The way Nick saw it, he had two options. He could keep his mouth shut and act like it had never happened, just like they all tried to act like the war had never happened, like they didn't have scars and memories and nightmares that they couldn't shake. Wayne would probably even let him get away with it – even though Nick had seen the look of surprise on his face that morning, that spark of recognition in Wayne's eyes that told him that he hadn't gotten away with anything at all – because if anyone was an expert at biting back words and pretending that everything was fine, it was Wayne. 

Or he could do the exact opposite and talk to Wayne about it, even if the thought of marching up to him and saying, _Hey, Wayne, what would you have done if I'd actually kissed you this morning? Would you have thrown me out of the window?_ made his chest tighten so much that Nick wasn't sure how he managed to get through the rehearsal without sounding like shit.

There came a point when Nick was stuck in that POW camp when he started thinking, _what if this is it?_ What if the war never ended, or what if it ended in a loss, and he never left this place? What if every day was nothing more than rations and watery potato soup? What if he had to spend the rest of his life waiting?

Well, he was free now, and he still didn't want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering.

Not to mention, he'd never been good at keeping his mouth shut. 

Maybe that was why, as soon as rehearsal ended and they all went back to their rooms to get ready for the gig and they were finally, _finally_ , alone, he turned to Wayne the moment that the door closed and said, "Remember that time you called me a selfish bastard?"

Wayne winced, and, all right, maybe Nick shouldn't have led with that. 

"Look, that's not what I-" Nick stopped, took a breath. It shouldn't be this difficult to talk to Wayne. It was _never_ this difficult to talk to Wayne. "Sorry."

He felt something brush against his arm; Wayne's elbow knocking into his own as he came to stand beside him by the window. Nick had a sense of déjà vu; the marquees of Times Square were glittering brightly enough to rival the morning sunlight, his bed was still a wreck of clothes he'd never bothered to put away, and he was still making a mess of everything.

But Wayne was still standing there beside him, and it didn't seem like he was about to run away. "This morning, it looked like," he said. "Were you really going to…?"

He knew that Wayne was giving him a way out, and Nick was a lot of things but he wasn't a coward. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have."

Wayne considered him, looking unsure. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know," Nick said, and if his heart was suddenly beating faster, it was because Wayne hadn't automatically agreed that yes, he shouldn't have. "Because you're… you."

Perhaps Nick could have been more tactful (he usually could), but Wayne just nodded. "Oh, well, if that's all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Wayne said. "Just that I wouldn't have minded, if you had. I still wouldn't mind."

Nick didn't trust anything, as a rule. He didn't trust other people, and in any given situation he never trusted that things would work out and that everything would be all right, because he knew firsthand that everything could go so desperately wrong.

But there was a blush inching its way up from underneath Wayne's neatly-buttoned collar and creeping onto his face, and the breath that felt like it had been caught in Nick's chest all afternoon finally gave way, like a bird escaping a cage.

"Are you shitting me right now, Wayne? You mean to tell me I spent the whole day worrying about this for you say, 'I wouldn't mind'? You couldn't have told me that a few hours ago?"

Wayne had the nerve to laugh at him, but then he reached for Nick's hand, so Nick found it in his heart to forgive him.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Wayne admitted. 

"You think I do?" 

There was no rulebook for them to follow, no notes on a chart for them to play. Nick had no idea where this was going, but Wayne was still smiling and he didn't let go of Nick's hand, so that had to count for something. 

Nick didn't trust anything, but he trusted Wayne. He always had.

"Remember what I asked you before?"

"Yeah, I remember what I said. You'll probably never let me forget it."

"That's not why I asked," Nick said. He held Wayne's hand tighter to reassure him, or maybe to reassure himself; he couldn't be sure, but it seemed like the right thing to do. "I asked because I wanted to know if you remembered the other thing you said that night, about Julia and Donny deserving all the happiness in the world. Because I think we deserve that, too."

He saw the recognition in Wayne's eyes, marked the instant that he remembered that part of the conversation, in the moment before Wayne leaned over and kissed him. Nick thought he should have been shocked, he thought it should have felt strange. But the warm press of Wayne's lips against his own, the way he dropped Nick's hand just so he could wrap his arms around him and pull him closer, the way Wayne didn't flinch away when Nick's hand came up to touch his face, didn't feel strange at all. It felt as right and as comfortable and as inevitable as playing music, or breathing.

They might not know what they were doing, Nick thought when they finally stopped to catch their breath, but he was pretty sure that they were getting something right.

"You know, you never told me your type," Wayne said. 

"Screwy nutcases, apparently," Nick replied, and leaned in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I thanked you all individually in the comments (or at least I hope I did!) but I wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who left such sweet comments along the way - I appreciate your encouragement more than I can say!


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